


Star Bright

by Issinder



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Starlight Celebration (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 14:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17184989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Issinder/pseuds/Issinder
Summary: Nero Scaeva pondering the future at an inn at the changing of the years.





	Star Bright

Nero didn’t want to be here, that much he knew for sure. He’d collapsed on the road and had apparently woken up in an inn called the Flailing Dodo. They’d wanted to see the back of him but he’d offered good payment for a room and luckily the owner had enough business sense to give the Garlean a fairly spacious one with a reasonably-sized bed. He had planned to travel further, but he’d be hard pressed to go anywhere when he was in a physical state that prevented him from seeing anything. When the world turned so bright he couldn’t bear it. He’d left the lights off in his room. The fire in the hearth was more than enough for his needs

A few more bells and another year had passed, Nero realised as he sat in the window and looked at his timepiece. How the year had gone by so quickly, he had no idea.Then again, a lot had happened, which generally made time fly with the speed of a drake mother coming to the aid of her crying offspring.

He had another sip of his mulled wine and peered through the window, upon the outside of which icy flowers had begun to form. A truly cold winter’s night, he mused, holding on to the cup for additional warmth. Behind him, the fireplace roared, casting waves of heat into the room he called his own, at least for the night. Of course, he’d charged Garlond for more than just expenses. That whole adventure with Omega could have very well ended him, after all. He was due a certain amount of compensation. Hazard pay, Nero called it. Mayhap it would catch on one day? Gods knew Biggs and Wedge deserved it. He felt the corners of his mouth lift at the thought of his fellow engineers, only to feel it drop within seconds, realising that he was alone. He shrugged it off. So what? He’d chosen this path for himself, chosen the solitude over a place at the Ironworks and… friends.

At least he’d managed to shake off Rowena for the winter. He raised his glass to the outside world. ‘To being away from it all.’  
He was about to take a sip when a sudden knock on the door disturbed him.  
‘What is it?’ he said rather testily to whatever poor soul was hiding on the other side.  
‘Permission to come in, sir.’  
It was Nitari, the young woman who ran the inn.  
‘Very well, step on in,’ Nero replied. The door opened and the Lalafell stepped through the doorway and into his current sanctum.  
‘Just so you’re aware,’ she said, clearly by rote, ‘we’re having a party downstairs to celebrate the passing of the year, as you do. You’re welcome to join in on the festivities if you’ve a mind…’

The unspoken words seeped into every corner of the silence that filled the room in those brief moments. A Garlean joining in on celebrations that would at least in part involve others expressing joy beyond measure that the Garlean Empire found itself being pushed back by Eorzea’s combined forces? Surely not. Surely this Garlean knew better? He was no Cid Garlond, and even Cid Garlond knew better than to be in certain parts of Eorzea when festivities were bound to turn even the most well-mannered men into complete arses who let their prejudices get away from them.

‘A splendid offer, but I’m afraid I must decline. Your quaint customs are not for me,’ Nero retorted, sipping his mulled wine and taking on a posture that was almost cat-like in its nature: languid, uncaring, a fur-covered shrug. Nitari cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. Paying customer or no, the man got on her nerves with his attitude. ‘Suit yourself, then. Probably for the best anyhow. Would you have any food or more drink delivered before we close the kitchen?’  
‘I most certainly would, madam,’ Nero replied and gave her a piece of paper in very neat handwriting with everything he’d like to have brought up to his room. Nitari squinted at some of the entries. ‘Some of these items we don’t carry, I’m afraid,’ she began.  
‘Feel free to replace them with substitutes you deem suitable,’ Nero interrupted, already bored with the conversation.  
The Lalafell happily obliged him in his unspoken desire for solitude by giving him a gracious yet surprisingly sarcastic bow and exiting his quarters, closing the door behind her, leaving Nero once more to his own devices.

Well, he thought, another year fresh for the taking, but a few bells away. He almost felt the need to reach out and grab it as if it were some small bird to be plucked from the sky and admired. Alas, the intangible year had not yet arrived and no amount of reaching would make the time pass any faster. Nero made his way to the desk and grabbed his satchel. He took out some paper and a pencil that had seen better days. He’d still get a bit more use out of it, but it was entering that phase where it could easily be referred to as a stub. He took a knife out of one of the leather pouches on his belt and cut the tip until it was sharp. Then, he took the candlestick and walked over to the fireplace to light the accompanying candle.

Taking his seat at the desk, the virginal piece of paper in front of him, Nero took pencil in hand and wrote “To be left behind:” at the top. It was a ritual he’d started back in his Academy days. 

That very first winter, as his fellow students went home for the holidays, Nero decided to stay behind. He wasn’t the only one but definitely one of the few to do so. Even the ever-precocious Cid Garlond had returned home. To be showered with gifts, cookies and praise no doubt, the young Nero had thought as he wiped some breadcrumbs off his second-hand robes while he sat and perused some volume or other about a topic he was considered much too young for, which comprised roughly 90 percent of the Academy’s library. At least those students that were staying had parcels being sent to them from home. Nero knew better than to expect anything. His mother may have considered it but his father would have made damned sure it stayed an idle fancy rather than yield any tangible result, the tirant. It had made Nero a bit tetchy and the remaining students avoided him even more than usual.  
Only by the time of the changing of the years did a parcel arrive for him. Nero took it from the woman at the desk, the look of surprise on his face one hundred percent genuine. Who on earth would have bothered to send him anything? Quickly and quietly he ran back to the dormitory and unwrapped it. Inside was a cloth filled with some not-terribly-well-made biscuits, a book and a note.

_Hullo lad,_

_figured you could do with a bit of cheering up around this time. Hope the Academy’s treating you well, or at the very least that your fellow students aren’t the huge pains in the arse they were when I attended. Have a great New Year and write to an old man from time to time, would you? It’s boring without your stick presence perusing all the books before I have the chance to actually sell them._

_Take care,  
T.N._

_P.s. those awful biscuits are from Armus. No wonder his wife never lets him bake. Still, kind gestures and all that..._

It took Nero a few moments to remember who T.N. was, then it hit him: Taggert Neeve, the owner of Blomsvolt Antiques and a stable presence in Nero’s life when he was eager to read and learn anything and everything. Armus must then be Armus bas Cargie, the owner of the local watermill Nero’d improved, which had been the start of the work that had gained him a patron and a place at the Academy.

Luckily, no one else in his peer group had stayed behind or he’d have been ridiculed for sure. Thick tears rolled down Nero’s face as he read the note over and over again. Take care, it said. Someone wanted him to take care. Someone…  
Nero wasted no time as he wiped the tears from his face. He found some paper and ink and set to work in writing a lengthy reply. He really should have written either man sooner. He spent about an hour drafting the perfect reply, then sealed it with some wax and took it downstairs to the administration to be sent. He tried one of the biscuits, agreed with Taggert that the thing tasted awful, but ate a few more anyway. The book was a thick, leather volume of Ancient Allag: A History Retold. Nero’s eyes went wide. How had Taggart known? Did he even know? Was this just a happy coincidence? Whatever the case may be, Nero held the book against his skinny chest for a good five minutes, eyes closed, imagining all the amazing things he was about to read, all the knowledge he’d pick up. Such bliss!

The memory wasn’t dissimilar from his current predicament, Nero thought. Alone, a roaring fireplace, the noise of a celebration he felt he couldn’t really be a part of. An outcast he was and would remain, it seemed. For a moment, he wished he still had the book. Granted, he’d researched and rewritten most of it since, but the air of nostalgia surrounding it was something he couldn’t quite shake off. He looked at the piece of paper in front of him, which was still empty apart from the header. What was he going to leave behind? Nero tapped the back of the pencil against his lips, then jotted down the first word.

_Servitude_

When Gaius had picked him up and drafted him into his service, had elevated him to a status his birth would have otherwise denied him completely, Nero had been grateful beyond measure. Here was someone who appreciated him for his intelligence, his ability to work under pressure, to provide solutions, insights, a clever, deft pair of hands at the helm of the good ship Ultima. Of course, he had been wrong. The moment Gaius had spotted Cid, Nero had been tossed aside. Take your place at my side, the Legatus had said to the other prodigy, it is your destiny…

Nero had tried to buy Gaius some time, but it wasn’t worth his life. It wasn’t worth anything. Had any of it mattered when the Warrior of Light had so handily despatched of his device with the blessing of this damned Goddess of his? To be sure, he’d learned much from his work on the Ultima weapon. Had he wielded it and not his so-called mentor, mayhap the battle would have ended differently. His plan had been to make that offer, but then… Nero shook his head. No masters for him. Not Gaius, not Rowena, not the Ironworks. He’d leave it behind. He’d make sure he owed them nothing. No one would own him in any way. 

The first item had been jotted down. What else would he leave behind? Nero thought hard, then a second item came to mind.

_Arrogance_

Nero squinted at the word. Was it really the right one? Yes, he decided. Arrogance almost got him killed in the Crystal Tower. Risks in the name of science were all well and good, but this one had landed him in a dark realm where the energies had almost sapped him of all strength. If it hadn’t been for those twins, he’d be dead now. Confidence was fine though, Nero reasoned. Nothing wrong with knowing one’s own worth after all.

Of course, if he hadn’t gone after Unei, then…

He shook his head. Too many ifs in this equation. Best to go with the fact that arrogant people notice less and are too busy puffing out their chests to learn anything new. A conversation came to mind, but only vaguely. Something about a kettle. Nero smiled as he remembered. Also not one of his finest moments. He’d learned to appreciate the kettle since then as it had been such a constant friend throughout their sojourn in Omega’s twisted realm.

He’d noted down two items but three was always the stronger number. Nero couldn’t quite explain why, but two was hardly a list at all and a third option seemed necessary. He sat down and gently touched the third eye resting in the centre of his forehead. Truth be told, it had always been sensitive, not just by virtue of what it was but also because, well, it was his. It helped him notice things. It was an instrument which he honed and cared for, but had apparently not taken enough care to protect.

Omega…

Once again, pencil touched lips as Nero pondered what that particular adventure had brought him, other than a persistent, destructive kind of inescapable migraine that robbed him of his eyesight whenever he happened to be in a place with reasonable amounts of light.

A knock on the door shook him out of his ponderings. Nero put down the pencil and opened the door to what he assumed was going to be a Lalafell who’d be walking up the stairs a lot, but he was greeted instead by a Hyur carrying a variety of plates, which he placed down on the table next to the door.  
‘Sorry about the wait. It’s a madhouse down there,’ the young man said, not bothering to look up as he went about his duties. Nero had to admire the skill with which the lad rid himself quickly and smoothly of six or so plates with various meets, fruits and treats on them, not a single piece hitting the floor.  
‘Be back in a mo with your wine, sir,’ he said as he quickly stalked out the door to return a few moments later with a bottle of a more than decent vintage. Why sell yourself short on the cusp of the old meeting the new, after all? The Hyur placed the bottle and a fresh glass on the table and turned to face Nero to say a last greeting.  
The smile on his face faltered almost instantly when he saw the third eye nestled in the Garlean’s forehead.  
‘Will there be anything else, sir?’  
Even if Nero were a bad judge of character, there was no mistaking that tone of voice.  
‘No, that’ll b-’  
The young man gave a curt nod and exited the room at a brisk pace. Nero made sure the man was gone before closing the door, locking it and propping a chair underneath the handle. He was close to pushing the dresser there too but mayhap that was too much. Then again…

He shook his head. No need to be paranoid. Twas still a day of celebration and with a bit of luck his presence here would be forgotten before any bad ideas took root in the Hyur’s head. Nero turned his attention to the plates and the wine, which was clearly a better use of his time than thinking about potential inn room mobbings. A lot of the things on his list were there, and those things Nitari didn’t have had been replaced by acceptable alternatives. Nero had to give it to her: the Lalafell knew her business. He felt his stomach grumble to life and attacked the plates with enthusiasm. For a while, he allowed not a single thought to blossom as his mouth formed an intimate relationship with the delicious food that had been placed before him.

As he gently popped the last grape into his mouth, savouring the juice dancing around his tongue, he wondered what part of the whole Omega-affair he’d like to leave behind. Below his window, some laughter erupted, followed by an exchange of words and some shouting. Whoever had been laughing, at least one person wasn’t finding the joke very funny. Nero sighed. It wouldn’t do, all this shouting. How could a man think with all that hullabaloo?

He walked over to the window to see what was going on and his gaze landed on a group of young men and women who were apparently very entertained by something happening within the circle they’d formed. Nero squinted but to no avail. If he were to see anything, he’d have to open the window. He quickly placed a knitted cap on his head and put on a scarf. While cold wasn’t generally an issue for his third eye, he didn’t feel like risking it. Also, being a Garlean wasn’t exactly popular with the locals right now. Feeling more dressed for the occasion he opened the window.  
‘...enough coin whoring herself out?’  
‘Don’t you talk about my mother like that!’  
‘Or what, you little prick? You gonna throw plates at me?’  
The young woman speaking didn’t bother to take on a fighting stance. Her eyes shone with the kind of malignant fire that made physical posturing unnecessary, that much was clear even from this distance as Nero’s third eye made everything in the environment sharper and more pronounced than it would appear to those without it. He peered into the centre of the group and saw a familiar face there. The young Hyur who’d brought him his dinner, looking up at the Roegadyn woman with the fiery gaze. Clearly, this wasn’t going to end well.

Nero had no desire for bloodshed. There had been enough of that this year, that much he knew for a fact. He quickly left his spot, grabbed something from his bag and walked back to the window. Outside, things were taking a turn for the worse. The lad had put his fists up and Nero was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to deck a single one of them.  
‘Excuse me?’ He shouted to the group at large. ‘Could you not?’  
Like a true hive mind, all heads turned almost as one to the man in the window who had the gall to interrupt the sport of the evening.  
‘Or else what, you tosspot?’ shouted the woman, earning her a round of laughter from everyone except the youth in the centre, who frowned.  
‘Or else this tosspot is going to shoot the bally lot of you,’ Nero responded deadpan as he took out his pistol. He’d seen Cid’s design and had, shall we say, made his own. With a few improvements, of course. He was Nero Scaeva, after all.  
The sight of his arm seemed to deter some of the group as they slowly backed away.  
‘This isn’t some lawless country, you can’t just shoot us,’ the Roegadyn replied.  
‘Mayhap, but law-abiding citizen or no, you’d still be dead or grievously injured,’ Nero noted, pointing the gun square at her face, where the fire still blazed. Nero would have loved to see that look under… different circumstances, but now was not the time nor this the place. He pressed a button on the side and the gun pistol hummed to life, giving off a faint blue aura.

‘Laurel, let’s just bloody leave. He’s clearly out of it,’ one of the bystanders hissed.  
So that was her name. Probably something like Laurel Wreath or whatnot. Hellsguard Roegadyn always did have these very descriptive monikers. Laurel kept on staring at him.  
‘Whereabouts are you from, then?’ she said without breaking eye contact.  
‘I’m from the city of Nowhere in the land of None of Your Business,’ Nero retorted, rotating another part at the back of the gun, which now hummed, lights becoming steadily brighter. Laurel appeared unphased.  
‘You’re not going to shoot me. You can’t afford to make a scene, can you, Garlean?’  
Nero knew when he’d been defeated. He pointed the gun at the sky and switched off some of the mechanisms. The hum slowly dropped until it disappeared altogether. Laurel smirked.  
‘There, you see? Such a good, law-abiding snake you are. Don’t worry, we’ll be back for you later. Won’t be, Winstan?’  
She grabbed the Hyur by the collar and dragged him off into the night. Nero followed them with his gaze until he could no longer see them and screamed out in frustration, slamming his fists on the desk. He didn’t like losing, especially not in such a stupid way. Only a year ago, he would have shot the woman with nary a thought, and now here he was, a tall, skinny, uselessly soft, wayward old Garlean.  
He knew they’d be back for him. Women like Laurel generally kept their word and he was not in the mood to find out whatever the wench had planned for him. He grabbed the piece of paper, quickly scribbled down the first thing that came to mind and tossed it into the fire.  
‘Out with the old, in with the new, make a fresh start with an open heart,’ he mumbled as he quickly tossed his possessions into his travel bags and wrapped up what food remained on the plates. He wrapped himself up and grabbed the bottle of wine from off the table. He’d bloody well need it on such a cold night as this one.

He shut the door as the piece of paper that had ended up in the corner of the fireplace finally got licked by the flames.

 _Servitude_ , it read.

_Arrogance._

_Loneliness._


End file.
